mercredi 1 mars 2017

The Deeper Reason Why We Can’t Remember People’s Names

I’ve never been very good at remembering people’s names. Or at least, I’ve never been as good at remembering names as I would like to be.

But I’m getting better—and I trace much of the change to a specific event that happened in my life many years ago.

Now, I know there are tips and tricks and books and courses you can take to get better at remembering names. I’ve even tried a few. But for me, the lesson I needed to learn was deeper, more introspective. There was something else getting in the way.

This became clear a number of years ago while speaking at an event in Wisconsin. It was a cold, winter evening outside. But inside was warm and pleasant. When I finished speaking, as people were departing, a lovely couple came up to meet me.

We exchanged names and pleasantries. And because the environment was quiet and informal, we continued to talk for the next 10-15 minutes on a wide-range of topics. It was wonderful.

But when they walked away, it dawned on me that I had entirely forgotten their names. And by “forgotten,” I mean totally forgotten—like I don’t think I even remembered the first letter of their names, much less the entire thing.

I knew I would probably see them again the next day and I could certainly cover over the fact that I didn’t remember their names until I had chance to glance at their name tag—I’ve done it a thousand times before.

But on this particular evening, as I got into my car and drove off into the cool night, I felt a bit of sadness. I was sad that I wasn’t able to remember something as simple as the names of two people I very much enjoyed meeting.

Slowly, I began to ask myself why. Rather than trying to remember their names, I started asking why I was unable to recall them. I was sure they mentioned them. I mean, I could picture the moment where I held out my hand to shake theirs.

I remembered them stating their names, but all I could remember from our interaction … was me … stating mine.

They introduced themselves, but all I can remember was introducing myself.

And suddenly it struck me.

I entered the conversation—as I do so often—with the desire to be known rather than to know. I was trying so hard to say something impressive or witty or intelligent that I entirely missed what they were saying on the other side of the conversation.

I wanted them to know my name more than I wanted to know theirs.

I wanted to share my expertise rather than seek to learn from theirs. I wanted opportunity to tell my story more than I wanted opportunity to hear theirs. I wanted to be known more than I wanted to know.

I could not remember their name because I was too focused on them remembering mine.

I’ve run through that conversation countless times in my life over the years. These days, as much as possible, when I meet somebody new, I try hard to remember their name.

I don’t always get it right. But I have found when I enter a conversation seeking to know the other person more than being known by them, my chances of remembering their name increase significantly.

Even more, I have discovered that taking the time to truly know someone else is one of the quickest paths to being known by them.



from Becoming Minimalist http://ift.tt/2m7MM7e

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